


Reap What You Sow

by omnic



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Canon Divergence, M/M, Slow Burn, headcanon heavy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:47:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27417496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omnic/pseuds/omnic
Summary: Caught betwixt Talons, Zenyatta finds himself imprisoned by the very people that would sooner stamp Overwatch into the ground than see it bloom. That who leads his interrogation is a man known as Reaper, a man that strikes fear into even his colleagues, let alone the remainder of the world. Behind most eyes, he's deemed nothing short of a monster.But Zenyatta sees something in him that others don’t.
Relationships: Reaper | Gabriel Reyes/Tekhartha Zenyatta
Kudos: 6





	Reap What You Sow

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing a fanfic! I decided to dedicate it one of my favourite rarepairs - Reapyatta - and it's going to be a slow, slow burn. First chapter is a bit of a test of waters, and keep in mind that I currently don't have a beta-reader, so there may be a few spelling or grammatical errors that I will weed out over time. Until then: thanks for reading!

Summer came in on her own time, drifting in on the petering echoes of spring. What was once a battleground of cold and hot, winter and summer, became a prosperous land where flowers bloomed and life ignited in vibrant verdancy, golds and fuchsias. She prevailed above and beyond, pinching her chilly cousin and hanging him like one of his woolly coats in the closet. He would return, that much she knew, but for now, she reigned. Her cornflower-blue sky wielded a sun so harsh it had humans and omnics alike dancing along the footpath, concrete soaking up the heat and turning to teeth that nipped at heels. 

In here, it was easy to forget. There was no warmth, no gentle kiss of a forgiving zephyr upon his cheek nor wires. A wicked draft flowed through slitted vents, cutting through fabric and metal shelling alike as if they weren’t there at all. Encased by dead white walls, Zenyatta’s gaze settled upon the wall directly in front of him; it would seem like he was surrounded by nothing if not for slight indents of the door and the small, thickly paned window that allowed glimpses upon his person.

These walls couldn’t hold a prayer, let alone spirit – but that wouldn’t stop Zenyatta from trying.

He knew, deep down, there was a chance of him being hunted and captured. The moment Overwatch rose from the ashes, flashing wings as agents were appealed to return to whence it was once believed dead and buried, Zenyatta knew the likelihood of him being targeted suddenly skyrocketed. He’d accepted this likelihood. He wouldn’t grudge his presence in Genji’s life nor would he hole himself in monasteries, quaking like a leaf at every sound and sensation.

Zenyatta didn’t put up a fight when they came for him. His lack of parry, his willing surrender sparked turmoil in select few who’d been ordered to take him in. He could sense it. He’d been meditating when they burst in, barrels trained as dots of red swarmed over his metallic shell...

Before he knew it, he was here, in this sterile, lifeless cell.

A woman, tall, was the first to stroll into his cell after hours of being by his lonesome. Her skin was a dark brown, kissed with such a warmth that it was as if summertime still existed in this cold, dreary place. Her hair was bound back, bursting behind nape in a cloud of black coils, and her eyes were a brilliant violet, as though bellflower had been ground amid the hued playground of her irises. Second to enter was a man, nigh skeletal with a prominent hunch, skin porcelain – as white as he was liable to break if one so much as even looked at him wrong. If he’d stood up straight, he might’ve matched the woman’s height, but it seemed like he was cowering in her presence.

Maybe that was why she kept him around.

The door behind them whirred to a shut. Zenyatta was sat, hovering near the floor, thin ankles crisscrossed, as the two loomed over him. The woman – clearly the leader of the two, the power imbalance was obvious – flexed her fingers, pressing something flush against palm, and a floating computer interface promptly emerged in front of her. Rather than introduce herself, she busily typed away on the hovering keyboard. Something was brought up upon the screen – many, many words, and what looked like an image of him. 

“I’m sure, by now, you know why you’re here,” the woman spoke with a lilt, a lilt that unbecoming of peace and instead broached a _warning._ A warning of what was to come. Zenyatta could sense no turmoil in this woman; she came with intent and that intent was cutthroat.

“I have some ideas,” Zenyatta chimed, gaze unwavering.

“Good. That’s a start. Then, by extension, do you know who _we_ are?”

“I have some ideas,” he repeated.

“Mm. I see. Let’s get the basics over with then: Tekhartha Zenyatta. You go by this name now, but our… _investigations_ denote that you haven’t always gone by this name and title. Is this correct?”

“It is,” Zenyatta’s head bobbed in a slight nod, “yes.”

“Age, twenty. Constructed in Faridabad, Haryana, India, though your schematics were from a Chinese company.” Her eyes flicked up from the projected, floating screen. Intense, unrelenting. “… Correct?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Now, do you know this man?” Fingers swiped across the screen. Pinching one of the floating images, she thrust it in his direction. Hovering not too far from his optics, the photograph showed him a man, covered head-to-toe in a form-fitting metallic shell. Green light exuded from the slit where eyes should lie behind. Zenyatta fingers curled around the image, drawing it close. Just as he anticipated.

_Shimada Genji_.

She flicked several more photographs of Genji in front of him. Each one from a different location, a different pose and backdrop. They’d been following him; it wasn’t a simple case of word by mouth, it was intricate, wholehearted _tracking_. No wonder they’d traced Genji back to him. At Christmas, Genji had spent it in a hermit monastery in the heart of Nepal, and this one photograph in Japan was taken before then... If they’d hounded Genji all the way from Japan to Nepal and _more_ , that meant… basically _anyone_ Genji had been in contact with was in danger.

_Angela_ , Zenyatta whispered in the confines of his own mind. The ex-Overwatch doctor that Genji had scribed a letter for. He had no doubt in his mind that if they could trace individuals over countries, continents, then they could intercept letters too. A wriggle of worry was planted deep in his core – not for himself, but for _them_. While he was often the one that broached that life was chaotic and adversity life’s second in-command, that didn’t still his worry for others, especially in cases of malice.

And Talon was, if nothing else, malicious.

“Genji. Shimada Genji. Japanese in nationality. Cyborg in form.” She quirked a brow, lips oh so slightly puckered. “Ring any bells?”

A moment of silence reigned. His optics swept from one photograph to another, and another, and another. “… Yes,” he said and, although he didn’t intend for it to come out so quietly, quiet it was. He was too busy thinking of how many people were now in danger.

“Good. Now to the most crucial question…” With an open palm, the images jittered before being drawn back to her – spiralling in quick succession, as though trapped in a technological tornado. “ _Where is he_?”

Zenyatta cocked his head. Confusion bobbed to the forefront of his mind and body, and for a few long seconds, he simply sat in the quiet of the room. “… If you have all this information, all these photographs… surely _you_ know where he is, yes? Why go to all this effort?”

“You would think that, yes.” A hint of exasperation leaked into her voice. “A logical conclusion. Truth is, for the past few months, he’s eluded us. Managed to stay out of our line of sight.” Her hand crunched into a fist and all the floating images burst into a skyward spray of pixels. “I’ll repeat myself: _where is he_?”

The monk shook his head, the gesture deep and solemn. “I don’t know. I have not seen my pupil for some months.”

A shallow sigh parted from her.

“I’m disappointed in you, Zenyatta. You’d been so forthcoming up until now,” her eyes fluttered shut – if only briefly. When they opened, they flashed with ire, hot and lashing. “Everything could’ve been easy – for us and more importantly _you_.”

“What should we do, miss?” The lackey beside her murmured.

She did not match his hushed volume. She spoke with firmness and authority. “We’ll inform Reaper that he’s uncooperative.”


End file.
